


Rattle me all night long

by Laur



Series: Rattle Me All Night Long [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (only a little bit of blood), 5+1 Things, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bickering, Biting, Blood, Coming Untouched, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex with Snake Form Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), also sex with human crowley, crowley is a rattlesnake for part of this guess why, they manage to pine even though they're banging, this has book omens vibes, this is my most popular GO fic lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24356287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laur/pseuds/Laur
Summary: Crowley's venom has a curious effect on Aziraphale.[5 times Crowley bit Aziraphale and 1 time he didn't.]
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Rattle Me All Night Long [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888474
Comments: 238
Kudos: 692
Collections: Hot Omens





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure this concept has been done before, but here's my shot at it. Oh, and for your interest and titillation, please enjoy this summary about rattlesnakes from Wikipedia:
> 
> The rattle is composed of hollow, interlocked segments made of keratin and serves as a warning for predators. The rattling sound is caused by contraction of special "shaker" muscles in the tail, which cause these segments to vibrate against one another. These muscles fire 50 times per second on average, for up to three hours.

**1**

The first time it happened was an accident.

The Earth was fresh and new and full of possibilities, and Crawly was napping on one of Eden’s glass-smooth boulders, the afternoon sun soaking into his onyx scales. He’d spent much of his time so far either observing the humans or sleeping, a fantastic ability he had recently discovered.

There was an apple tree here, ponderous with eternally ripe fruit, that was forbidden for reasons that Crawly didn’t understand. If you asked him, it all seemed like a deliberate tease, like a dare masquerading as a test. When you could control the universe and the Earth and everything on it, he didn’t see why you’d put a forbidden tree in a garden where anyone could wander upon it. He didn’t see why you’d create a forbidden tree at all. The whole thing stank of trust issues.

He might have started asking questions, but that had earned him a dip in a boiling sulphur bath last time. Plus, the angels guarding Eden didn’t give off approachable, talkative vibes. Well, the one on the Eastern Gate didn’t look so bad.

The humans had steered clear of the tree so far, but Crawly was certain he could fix that. After his nap, of course.

Which someone or something had just rudely interrupted.

At the first brush against his scales, Crawly jerked into awareness, panic shooting through him. There was something large and holy looming over him, and he struck without thought.

His fangs sank into sweet angel-skin like nothing, his jaws tingling sharply as venom ejected itself into his attacker. Someone gasped. As quickly as he had struck, he pulled back again, unhooking his fangs and darting under a bush to hide, yellow eyes peering out suspiciously.

It was the Eastern Gate angel, who was looking at the two bleeding puncture marks on his arm with a mix of pain, indignation, and curiosity. As Crawly watched, his expression morphed into one of confusion and then, oddly enough, into something Crawly had never seen on an angel before. It was similar to the expression he had seen on the humans’ faces when they ate fruit, or when Adam played with Eve’s hair, only much more intense.

The angel fell to his knees with a sound like pain and Crawly slithered out of his hiding spot. He had never bitten anything before, never seen anyone bleed before. He wondered if the angel was going to die. He’d never killed anyone before either.

“You bit me!” the angel accused, curling in on himself, cradling his arm.

“You startled me,” Crawly retorted.

The angel moaned, apparently suffering, and Crawly hesitated, his body rippling through the grass in a circle around the fallen angel. Well, he couldn’t do anything about it now. In fact, he ought to take advantage of the angel’s distraction. With an apologetic hiss, he left the angel hunched over on his knees and slithered across the Garden to whisper temptations into Eve’s innocent ears.

Once that lead balloon had plummeted to the ground, he was relieved to discover that the angel hadn’t ceased to exist after all. That wasn’t something he wanted on his conscience, no matter that it would probably get him a raise.

As water started pouring from the sky for the first time, the angel raised his wing over Crawly’s head and Crawly shuffled guiltily closer. He probably ought to apologize, but then again, demons didn’t go in for that sort of thing. “I never got your name.”

“Oh, it’s Aziraphale.”

Crawly nodded. “The, uh, bite. I see you’ve recovered.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat, his cheeks a little pink. “Quite. Nothing a miracle couldn’t handle, once the…effects wore off.” He raised his arm to show two pale little circles etched into his skin.

The shape of muscle and bone under his skin was pleasing to look at. “Does it still hurt?”

“N-no.”

Crawly looked out into the distance, at Adam and Eve walking hand-in-hand, the flaming sword lighting their way. “What possessed you to touch a strange snake anyway?”

The wing over his head shifted with Aziraphale’s shrug. “You looked quite lovely, your scales glittering in the sun – I haven’t seen any other animals like that. And, well, you were so still I almost thought you were part of the rock.”

A streak of light cut through the sky and Crawly flinched, ducked even lower at the sound of the air cracking open. He wasn’t at all sure how he felt about being called ‘lovely’. The angel’s instincts were all backwards, he thought. Giving away his weapon, sheltering a demon, touching venomous things because they were shiny.

Naïve. Kind. A demon ought to take advantage of that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time it happened was decidedly not an accident.

**2**

The second time it happened was decidedly not an accident.

The Earth was less than a millennium old, but already the humans had spread far and wide. They brought squabbling and thieving and lust everywhere they went, with the odd war whenever two tribes ran into each other. They brought a lot of Good everywhere they went, too, but Crawly tried to downplay that in his memos to head office.

Being on Earth was _exciting_ , and the humans were interesting, and Crawly’s job wasn’t nearly as much work as he’d feared, what with people tempting themselves all the time.

Of course, no one liked all aspects of their work. Fighting in the humans’ petty wars was definitely the worst part, Crawly thought, stepping over a disemboweled corpse with a grimace. The sea wind whipped up the nearby cliffside and howled across the battlefield, and Crawly shivered under its icy assault. It was cold and damp here to boot.

He wasn’t actually very good with a sword, but he swung it about anyway, using demonic miracles to push the humans back. All around him they fell, mindless in their rage, fighting like beasts more terrifying than most demons Crawly knew. They didn’t even need his encouragement.

A sword clashed against his and Crawly threw another miracle to repel his attacker. The curse slipped around them like a joke over Hastur’s head.

He stumbled back, adrenaline spiking. “You!”

“Crawly,” Aziraphale acknowledged, and lunged at him again.

Despite his looks, Aziraphale _was_ good with a sword. Fortunately, this one wasn’t flaming, Crawly thought, clumsily blocking a jab at his side. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“We were bound to run into each other eventually.” He pushed Crawly back another several steps.

Crawly attempted an offensive move that Aziraphale swatted away like a pesky fly. “You’ve been assigned to the other side, then?”

“Obviously. Can’t have your lot ransacking the place.” A combination of blows sent Crawly reeling back. “They’ve only _just_ got their crops to take.”

“You’re good at this,” he remarked, teeth jarring with each clang of metal against metal.

“Thank you.” _Clang_. “You could use some practice.”

“Ow, watch it!” _Clang._ “You ought to teach me some time.”

Aziraphale frowned and blocked another blow without a flinch. “That is certainly against the rules.”

“What rules?” He ducked.

“ _You_ know—” _clang – clang._ “The Rules.”

He swore as he nearly stumbled, barely recovering in time to deflect a blade to the head. “Is there a stone tablet somewhere I’m not aware of?”

Aziraphale sighed in exasperation, which was mostly annoying because he had the breath to sigh while Crawly was panting like a Hellhound. By this point, Crawly had been forced back out of the fray, the cliffs close behind. Still Aziraphale advanced, striking at him mercilessly. It was all Crawly could do to avoid a discorporating blow. “C’mon,” he puffed, dancing back from a thrust aimed at his gut, “can’t we talk about this?”

“I won’t have you whispering poison in my ear,” Aziraphale retorted.

Crawly had always assumed that Aziraphale was harmless, that he wouldn’t last a decade on this cruel and unforgiving planet. A very incorrect assumption, clearly. It was intriguing to have been wrong. “I’m only here because of work,” he tried.

“So am I.” Aziraphale shepherded him even closer to the cliff. “This is nothing personal.”

As fascinating as this new side of Aziraphale was, discorporation had not been on Crawly’s agenda for today, not to mention the jeering he’d get for being offed by an angel. He was painfully outclassed in the swordsmanship department.

Well, nothing for it then.

“Neither is this.” His sword fell to the grass with a dull thud. Faced with a weaponless opponent, Aziraphale faltered. Ah, there was the kindness and naivety. Crawly was never completely weaponless.

Quick as a breath, Crawly melted into his more agile shape, venom already welling from his fangs. He coiled and snapped before he’d completely changed, puncturing two small holes in Aziraphale’s exposed ankle. He was darting away before Aziraphale could even think of bringing down his blade. When he was at a safe distance, he curled around to watch Aziraphale fall to his knees, hands squeezing at his bleeding ankle as if he could trap the venom there.

“Oh, you wily – you foul—”

“Yup, that’ssss me.”

Aziraphale’s mouth went slack, his eyelids fluttering, and he slowly sprawled on his back on the ground, his limbs clumsy and fingers twitching. A keening sound squeezed out of his throat and his back arched, head twisting side to side. Crawly crept closer.

Despite their track record, Crawly didn’t actually make a habit of biting anyone. His fear of an early and permanent retirement ensured he kept a wide berth from any other angels he came across. The mere thought of getting his mouth that close to another demon made him want to develop a gag reflex to emphatically express his disgust. And humans were already so helpless the idea of biting them just seemed… _mean_.

The point was, when it came to biting, Aziraphale was two for two, and he didn’t really know what his venom did other than not kill angels. Since Eden, however, he had learned a lot about humans and the many ways they felt things. Watching Aziraphale thrash, listening to his moans, he realized that the venom wasn’t _hurting_ him.

“Does that – angel… Does it feel _good_?”

Aziraphale turned onto his side, away from him, his whole body shivering. “Begone, foul fiend,” he rasped, spine curling.

Hissing out a laugh, Crawly surged into his human form and snatched up his dropped sword. Angels weren’t meant to feel pleasure like that. For Aziraphale, it probably would have been easier if it _had_ hurt. “Nothing personal,” he reminded him, bending to give him a consoling pat on the shoulder.

The sound Aziraphale made at the contact had Crawly’s body flushing hot.

He hardly remembered the rest of the battle, his thoughts taking him back to the angel writhing by the cliffside.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third time was in plague-ruined Egypt, both of them at the other’s throat.

**3**

The third time was in plague-ruined Egypt, both of them at the other’s throat.

“ _How could you let this happen_ ,” Crawly hissed, seizing Aziraphale’s robe. The alley’s shadows obscured them, moonlight leaching Aziraphale’s skin of colour, and Crawly pushed until Aziraphale’s back hit a stone wall. It had been too easy to find him, to attack him from behind. Any other demon would have already had a knife in his kidney.

Expression thunderous, Aziraphale twisted out of his grip and smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothing. “How could I have possibly stopped it? You’re the one who was subjecting the Pharaoh to your wiles.” As he spoke, he skirted around Crawly and led the way to a side door.

“You’re supposed to thwart them!” Crawly stalked after him, ducking into a room with a table, a chair, and little else.

“Perhaps if you had _told_ me—"

“Maybe if I had known you and your planning committee were—”

Aziraphale was lighting a candle, facing away from him. “I told you, I had nothing to do with—”

“—an overreaction, I mean, first the blood in the Nile, and the frogs, and—”

“I wish it didn’t have to happen, but you can’t question the might of the Lord. It’s ineff—"

“Shut up!” Fangs bared, Crawly grabbed him by the shoulders to turn him around, and Aziraphale stumbled back against the wall. Aziraphale’s eyes lowered to his mouth, where Crawly could feel venom beading in response to his agitation.

For a long moment, they stood there, panting in each other’s face, blame and anger and despair swirling between them, thick and choking. Crawly was letting his fondness for the humans get the better of him. A demon shouldn’t care that the people were suffering. He shouldn’t care that they had nothing to drink, that their food had all been contaminated, that the sun never shone, or that infection festered in their skin.

A demon should also hate Aziraphale. He didn’t. He didn’t think he was even capable of it.

It was supremely annoying.

Aziraphale’s head tilted back. He swallowed audibly. “Go on then.” He snapped. “I know you want to.”

“What?”

“I rather thought when you pushed me against this wall that you were going to hurt me.”

Crawly shook him, furious. “No.”

His eyes flicked to his mouth again and for a surreal moment Crawly thought Aziraphale meant to kiss him. Then, very slightly, Aziraphale’s face turned away, baring his neck. “You are a demon and I am an angel. It’s practically expected.”

Crawly sucked in a short breath. Tempting was supposed to be his job.

Aziraphale shivered. “You’re angry with me.”

He was. Angry enough to shove and hiss and—

There were nerves hooked up wrong in his corporation, he was sure of it. His biological reactions were all screwy. What good was a corporation that got aroused when threatening your enemy? He was trying to be terrible and intimidating, but with Aziraphale’s heat all along his front, both of them breathing quick, his blood was deciding to pool between his legs.

The land all around them was hemorrhaging, the misery of the people a pulsating bruise. Aziraphale’s voice was like shattered pottery. “I can feel them, Crawly.”

He wanted an escape, Crawly realized. An angel who couldn’t bear the pain and suffering his brethren had caused. Then again, he had been bitten two times now; perhaps he had gotten a taste for it. Crawly was a walking temptation without even trying.

He could walk away and take his temptation with him. He could leave Aziraphale to his own private torture and they would never speak of it again. But Aziraphale wanted it. His pulse fluttered in his throat, rabbit-quick with yearning, its rhythm pounding into Crawky’s skin where they touched. It made his fangs ache.

He bowed his head, the heat of Aziraphale's neck tingling against his lips. The tempo of Aziraphale's pulse increased and he swayed towards his mouth. Squeezing his eyes shut, Crawly bit.

Aziraphale went rigid, his hands clenching on Crawly’s forearms. A wheezing cry brushed by Crawly’s ear and Aziraphale sagged, fangs retracting painfully sweet from the side of his neck.

Angel blood in his mouth, he pressed closer as Aziraphale began to sag, pinning him to the wall with his body. His cross-wired arousal kicked up another notch.

“I can sense them too, you know,” he croaked, fingers clutching convulsively in white fabric. “What if I’d like a break?”

Venom coursing through him, Aziraphale whimpered and squirmed, rubbing them together inadvertently. Crawly blessed and knocked their foreheads together. He couldn’t stop his spine from flexing, circling his erection against an answering hardness.

Aziraphale keened, gripping weakly at his wrists, not pushing him away. There was no way Crawly could resist this, their bodies hot and flush together, the pleasure-pained arch of Aziraphale’s eyebrows, the urgency between his legs. There was something so erotic about the way Aziraphale went limp and eager in his arms.

“Tell me to ssstop,” he rasped.

Aziraphale only bit his lip, eyes closed.

Biting back a groan, he ground them together harshly, mindlessly, their corporations buzzing with animal need. It was too much, too sharp, venom-tainted iron on his tongue, and Aziraphale’s hazy eyes were already rolling back, his hips jerking convulsively. Crawly could do little but hiss and follow after him, his orgasm bright and piercing, spine curling like a snake. 

He swayed back as the pleasure eased, a sort of panicked confusion creeping in. Without his support, Aziraphale slid down the wall. Crouched on the ground, blood curling like a lover’s touch down his neck, Aziraphale looked up at him dazedly, eyelids heavy, both of them shaking.

“You should leave,” Aziraphale sighed, voice entirely breath. Candlelight flickered over his face, throwing shadows that blurred his expression into something soft that Crawly didn’t dare put a name to. “Before the rest of the Plagues.”

All the things Crawly wanted to say were too dangerous to be voiced. This place was teeming with their coworkers, beings who would love to wipe one or the other of them off the face of the planet.

He snapped his fingers to clean them both up, trying to summon some of his earlier anger. Anger was sharp and clear, able to cut through the uncertainty.

“Watch your back,” he growled, not sure if he meant it as a threat or advice, and slipped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’d come to an Arrangement some time ago, well-understood despite being generally unspoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, folks.

**4**

They’d come to an Arrangement some time ago, well-understood despite being generally unspoken. Included in their Arrangement were regularly scheduled meetings. This time, they were in India and Crowley was wearing his scales.

Wedged in the nook between ground and wall to avoid the treacherous foot traffic, Crowley made his way to the meeting spot at a leisurely slither. He found his friendly adversary sitting cross-legged under a tree, a woven basket in front of him from which a cobra emerged, swaying lethargically. In Aziraphale’s hands was a _pungi,_ the mouthpiece in his lips, a hypnotic melody floating through the hot afternoon air. The cobra, a regular snake as far as Crowley could tell, was not be able to hear it, though he doubted Aziraphale realized that. Instead, the cobra was transfixed by the end of the instrument, which looped slowly in front of it.

Crowley, not a regular snake, did not appreciate this little show. One of the perks of being a reptile part-time was that he could choose the type of snake he wanted to be. Gliding closer, he gave a warning rattle of his tail, then rose up over the basket. The cobra reared back, its hood flaring threateningly, fangs bared. Unimpressed, Crowley hissed viciously and struck, fangs grazing green scales as the cobra fled, humans yelping and jumping out its way.

The music stopped. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Crowley slinked around the basket, brushing Aziraphale’s knee with his scales. “Thinking of cheating on me?”

“If you were any later, I might have.”

“Cold, angel, cold. You know being fashionably late is part of a demon’s job description.”

“I’m not a saint, nor do I have the patience of one. At any rate, we’re off the clock.” He tilted the basket in invitation and Crowley poured himself inside the warm cocoon of reeds. It was much too small for a rattlesnake his size, but fortunately for Crowley, the laws of physics were more like guidelines.

They travelled to Aziraphale’s dwelling like this, the basket swaying with each step. When Crowley felt the basket being laid gently on the floor, he poked his head out of the top. In front of him, Aziraphale sat on a low-lying bed, surrounded by an indulgent number of pillows and blankets. When he flicked his tongue, he could taste anticipation thick in the air.

“Play for me.”

Aziraphale blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

He swayed his head in the direction of the instrument lying on the bedside table. “Play for me.”

Licking his lips, Aziraphale nodded. “Very well.” He took the _pungi_ in his elegantly manicured fingers, took a breath, and began to play.

The sound was sharp and reedy, the room overflowing with the music. Over the orbed head of the instrument, their eyes remained fixed on each other, sky blue meeting toxic yellow. Aziraphale swayed softly and Crowley mirrored him, rising out of the basket as if drawn by the music rather than the player.

“Don’t ssstop.”

Crowley’s body started to flow out of the basket, his jaw landing on Aziraphale’s knee. Above him, the instrument trembled. He curled over Aziraphale’s thighs, feeling the muscles tense and relax, then crept up Aziraphale’s stomach and chest, which expanded under him with each breath like an ocean’s waves. At last he rested his head on the perch of Aziraphale’s shoulder. When his tongue vibrated against Aziraphale’s ear, the music faltered.

“Don’t ssstop.”

Aziraphale was burning hot, his flesh a furnace under Crowley’s scales. He slinked over the back of his neck, then looped around the front to feel his throat work as he breathed. His pulse jumped against Crowley’s belly. In the valley between Aziraphale’s thighs, under the curl of Crowley’s tail, was another serpent rising for attention.

If snakes could smile, Crowley would have. Opening his mouth, he let his fangs brush the sensitive skin over Aziraphale’s windpipe.

Aziraphale gasped sharply, the droning music cutting off with a harsh noise.

“Consssider me charmed.”

His thighs fell open a smidge. “Don’t.”

Crowley was already pulling away, looping around Aziraphale’s back like living rope. “You caught me. Now you have to deal with the consssequencsses.” The _pungi_ clattered to the floor as he made another loop around him, trapping his arms, his erection filling out under Crowley’s rattle.

Aziraphale squirmed ineffectually. “Let me go, you beast.”

Snout against the base of his skull, Crowley hissed and rattled his tail in warning. Aziraphale went rigid, breath catching and head tilting forward. “Be ssstill, or I’ll bite.”

That was more of a temptation than a threat, and Crowley knew it. Aziraphale whimpered, muscles quivering as he resisted the urge to grind and writhe in the serpent’s evolving, never-ending embrace. He wanted a bite more than anything, but Crowley wasn’t going to give it to him so easily. Instead, he continued to encircle Aziraphale’s body, tangling him up until he could hardly move. Satisfied that his victim couldn’t escape, he contracted the muscles along the length of himself, a rippling shock of pressure that travelled the map of Aziraphale’s skin and wrung sighs from his mouth.

His tongue teased the hollow beneath Aziraphale’s ear. “Down.”

“I don’t think—”

Crowley squeezed and twisted and Aziraphale collapsed back onto the bed like a felled log, back arching. He tugged at the clothes covering Aziraphale’s skin. “Off.”

A whimpering sort of noise. “No.”

Crowley laughed and willed every scrap of cloth away. Against his scales, angel-skin was luxuriously soft and warm and smooth, dimpling beautifully under his weight. His winding, midnight coils were glorious against Aziraphale’s pale skin, his plump body trussed up in shifting bonds. Between his legs glided the thickest part of Crowley, his rattle dragging teasingly against the inside of his knee.

“Don’t,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley kept going.

They had their patterns, their little dances, the choreography nailed down through centuries of trial and error. An angel shouldn’t want this, so Crowley helped Aziraphale pretend he didn’t. He let Aziraphale threaten and beg and rail, and kept going anyway.

Precome was glistening against Crowley’s scales where Aziraphale’s cock twitched and rubbed, his panting breaths heating the air around them. With every flick of his tongue Crowley could taste lust in the air, the base of his tail aching with his own arousal. The tip of his rattle drew a line up the inside of one plush thigh, Aziraphale’s whimpering string of _no’_ s sounding an awful lot like _yes_.

With an arch of his coils, he forced Aziraphale’s thighs wider apart.

“Oh, stop, you demon!”

Crowley flicked his tongue against a peaked nipple and nudged the unyielding tip of his tail between Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Thisss is what you get for trying to tame a wild beassst.” With a particularly devilish miracle, Aziraphale’s hole was slick, and Crowley eased the first segment of his rattle inside.

A low whine squeezed out of Aziraphale’s throat as Crowley dipped his tail in and out, testing the waters. As the muscle eased Crowley began to sink in deeper, each new segment thicker than the last, the ribbed texture catching on his sensitive rim with each slow thrust. He was an ancient snake, which meant his rattle was long. Halfway in and Aziraphale was writhing in Crowley’s coils, his hips circling and head twisting from side to side.

“Oh, oh, no, oh, Lord—”

Crowley skimmed his snout along Aziraphale’s jaw, tasted his perfume mixed with desperation. “Not quite.” He pushed in another segment, even thicker, and Aziraphale cried out, toes curling. “That’sss it.” His fangs brushed his straining neck, where old, pin-point scars glimmered when the light hit his skin just right.

“ _Please_.”

Crowley retracted his tail just to push in again, just to hear that delicious noise again. “Not yet.”

Aziraphale shook and twisted within his bindings as Crowley split him open, segment by segment, until Aziraphale’s rim clenched around black scales. They paused like that, his entire rattle buried inside velvety heat, pressing warningly against his prostate. Aziraphale’s cock was iron-hot and throbbing against Crowley’s belly, his muscles clenching around his tail, his chest heaving in the cage of Crowley’s twisting body. They were both quivering and breathing hard, on the precipice.

“Ohh—"

“Yesss,” Crowley sighed, and his tail began to thrust.

Aziraphale’s head whipped back, begging for it, and this was why Crowley never bit him right away. This was why he drew out the anticipation to the point of torture, so that once Aziraphale had reached his first peak, and as he was just beginning to descend the other side, Crowley would strike, rocketing him up a second, higher mountain.

With each thrust, Aziraphale’s voice climbed, his body clenching and straining towards orgasm. Crowley moved faster, spurred on by his bitten-off cries, his rattle juddering in and out. Less than a dozen thrusts and Aziraphale’s breath stopped, his body seizing. For a second that Crowley wished could last a century, they floated in a weightless inevitability, Aziraphale’s back arched, Crowley’s tail half inside him.

Crowley pushed inside sharply.

“Oh, ffff—” The dam broke, a cry spilling from Aziraphale’s lungs and ejaculate spilling over Crowley’s scales. He squeezed around Crowley’s still-moving tail, his hips jumping, and Crowley panted by his ear, fangs poised. Just as the pleasure began to ease and his muscles began to relax, Crowley slithered over Aziraphale’s mouth and sank into his neck.

Aziraphale screamed, voice muffled by scales, his entire body going taut once again. Crowley did nothing but hang on as Aziraphale shook apart a second time, venom pumping into him. This time, Crowley allowed Aziraphale to sag, his body shivering with aftershocks and the infernal poison igniting inside of him. Breath quick, Crowley unhooked his fangs and hovered over Aziraphale’s face, groaning at the sight of him. He was a wreck of sex-flushed skin, exploded pupils, slack mouth, and fluttering eyelashes.

Crowley rubbed his arousal against Aziraphale’s stomach and groaned again. “You look sssinful.”

“’m an angel,” he countered, breath catching as Crowley ground against him.

“That’ss right.” He twitched his tail and Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “I have to try harder.” Deep inside, Crowley’s rattle was perfectly positioned, pushed right up against Aziraphale’s prostate. As if Aziraphale were a threat to be subdued, Crowley rattled his tail so fast it vibrated his entire spine.

The angel’s eyes rolled back, his mouth stretching open as he shook under the onslaught of stimulation. Pained noises squeezed out of him, his body trying simultaneously to pull away and push closer, failing at both as the serpent-snare constricted around him. Crowley didn’t let up until he’d torn a third sobbing orgasm out of him, then a fourth.

“You were made for thisss.”

“ _Nooo_.” Aziraphale shook his head, jaw clenched as Crowley slithered against his drooling cock and slowly dragged his rattle out of him. High with a bite, Aziraphale could go for ages and Crowley could vibrate his tail for hours. He had every intention of doing just that, until he had a delirious, oversensitive puddle of angel in his coils.

They spent the rest of the evening and well into the night entwined, Crowley coaxing pleasure from Aziraphale’s body, drunk with lust. He’d lost count of how many times Aziraphale had come, unable to stop rubbing the base of his tail into Aziraphale’s skin, his own arousal throbbing, aching to be released.

“Angel, can I…?”

Mute, lost in a haze of bliss and Crowley’s venom, Aziraphale nodded, hips twitching weakly against him. Hissing uncontrollably, already on the knife’s edge, Crowley butted his head under Aziraphale’s chin and pushed inside the hugging heat of him, pleasuring shooting up his endless spine.

“Oh, fuck, _angel_ —"

He undulated desperately and Aziraphale keened at the texture of him, his ankles hooking over Crowley’s tail. Wild, moving too fast, Crowley groaned. His thrusts were erratic from the start, his need denied for too long. At a particularly sharp thrust, Aziraphale gasped and tightened around him and Crowley was done for.

He came with a pleasure so sharp it hurt, the entire length of him spasming. Aziraphale was everywhere, squeezing around him, shifting under his scales, both of them crushed and being crushed.

As the peak slowly eased, Crowley’s tense coils loosened, cradling instead of restraining. Aziraphale squirmed and made a small displeased sound when Crowley slipped free.

“Sssorry.”

Aziraphale hummed and patted him clumsily, melting into the pillows. They stayed like that until the sun rose, when Crowley slowly unspooled himself, his scales feeling naked without Aziraphale’s skin bathing them in warmth. When he flicked his tongue over Aziraphale’s lips, Aziraphale stretched and sighed, his pupils a normal size again, the punctures on his neck a dull red.

They didn’t talk about it. They never did. Which Crowley was fine with. So long as he could have this.

It was the leaving, though, that really made him feel like a demon. The angel’s fingertips trailed over his scales as he flowed off the bed and across the floor. He glanced back at the angel, rumpled and naked in bed, and slithered out the front door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley had made a lot of mistakes in his long existence.

**5**

Crowley had made a lot of mistakes in his long existence. He’d been kicked out of Heaven, for starters, and now he had misplaced the Antichrist, which was literally the end of the world. Well, he would argue that Aziraphale had had a hand in that, too. The whole debacle was entirely his fault, but he would argue it anyway.

“Welcome to the end times.”

Crowley downed his drink like a shot. Aziraphale copied him and refilled their glasses.

They emptied Aziraphale’s fussy, crystal decanter that way, and then cracked open another bottle. Their reminiscing and rambling became gloomier the deeper they got, and by the third bottle they had migrated to the couch. This, too, was probably a mistake, because there was nothing stopping Crowley from sprawling all over Aziraphale, while Aziraphale held on to his ankle like a lifeline.

“—still books I want to collect,” Aziraphale was despairing, in a slurring kind of way, “and rest’rants to try, and new ones that haven’t opened yet—”

Just then, Crowley realized something devastating. “ _Mars_.”

“Eh?”

He took off his sunglasses to show Aziraphale how important this was, boring into him with his snake eyes. “They haven’t got to Mars yet.” He made an expansive hand gesture, nearly smacking Aziraphale in the face. Aziraphale caught his hand and then didn’t let go. “Was looking forward to that.”

Aziraphale nodded mournfully and began fiddling with Crowley’s fingers as if he had forgotten that they still had a demon attached to them. “I’ll miss mooncake.”

The distracting glide of a thumb over his knuckles rendered Crowley unable to commiserate.

“I won’t fight, you know.”

“Hm?”

“In th’War. Won’t fight.”

Crowley squinted at him. He’d lost his sunglasses. “You can’t not do what you’re told.”

“Well.” He wriggled his shoulders. “I’ve learnt a thing or two from you.”

Crowley’s throat hurt as he gazed at Aziraphale’s stubborn moue. They’d been living practically in each other’s pockets for the past eleven years, inching towards the increasingly blurry line between their sides. It had been more than just an Arrangement for centuries now, a tentative, careful connection blooming between them.

But they’d lost the Antichrist.

He melted off the couch, shuffled over to kneel between Aziraphale’s feet, and placed his hands on Aziraphale’s knees. Aziraphale looked down at him, eyes wide, biting his lip, and it struck Crowley all over again how much he had to lose. The enormity of it, mixed with alcohol like a cocktail from Hell, robbed him of words.

For a long time, Crowley had secretly reveled in this power he seemed to have over the angel. With a flash of his fangs he could have Aziraphale quivering and tongue-tied. He could give Aziraphale pleasure unlike anything he had felt before, unlike anything Heaven could do for him.

_What’s it like?_ he’d asked once, with Aziraphale boneless and moaning in his arms.

_An exquisite ache_ , he’d sighed. _My entire body burning and electrified. Floating. Love everywhere._

It felt good, to be able to do that for him. It felt incredible knowing that Aziraphale wanted him.

Crowley slowly massaged Aziraphale’s thighs, grabbing greedy handfuls of him. He scratched irritably at his trousers, wanting to be closer. Needing it with a painful urgency. “Off.”

He’d begun to doubt though, that it was really _him_ that Aziraphale wanted. _Would you let me touch to you like this,_ he wondered, _if it weren’t for the venom? Would we even be friends if not for what I can give you? Would you let me nibble your thighs and kiss your neck and suck your cock if I didn’t bite you, too?_

Aziraphale undid his flies and lifted his hips so Crowley could tug his trousers all the way off, delaying briefly to take off his shoes. With his legs bare, Crowley dived in, digging in his nails and sucking little bruises into the soft skin on the side of his knee.

He wondered if angels could be prone to addiction. He worried that all Aziraphale was after was his next hit of demon venom. Crowley felt addicted to Aziraphale’s skin, and the way his fingers carded through his hair, and his little mewls of pleasure as he kissed and licked his way up Aziraphale’s left thigh.

There were old scars scattered in the skin, shimmering twin punctures marking the other times Crowley had bitten him here. He was the pin cushion and Crowley the needle.

The underwear came off next, his shirt unbuttoned, and Crowley spent an age re-learning the shape of Aziraphale’s hip bones with his lips and tongue. Aziraphale’s thighs were spread wide, the tendons in his groin straining, and when Crowley’s teeth grazed his skin Aziraphale whimpered, his hips jumping up to get closer. With a quiet hiss, Crowley pulled back and pressed his lips to his other knee, restarting his torturous journey up Aziraphale’s thigh.

Aziraphale groaned at being thwarted and Crowley smiled, drunk on the taste of him and just drunk. The floor was rocking a bit unpleasantly. He held on tighter to Aziraphale’s leg for balance.

“Crowley, dear.”

“Mm?” Crowley was midway up his thigh, which twitched and shifted under him. Aziraphale clutched fitfully at his hair and shoulders.

“Oh, _please_.” He was hard and leaking against his belly, and it was a good thing they’d thought to unbutton his vest and shirt or he’d be staining his clothes.

Ridiculous, lovely, prissy angel.

He lipped and sucked his leisurely way to the crease of his groin, inhaling the warm, familiar scent of him, squeezing his flesh as he squirmed. Crowley could have selfishly, happily spent the rest of the night like that, face mashed into his belly, breathing him in, Aziraphale’s knees squeezing his ribs and fingers in his hair. But his pitiable whimpers were edged with desperation and Crowley didn’t have the heart to torture him any longer.

_Give him what he really wants_. He pulled back his lips and carefully slipped his fangs into his inner thigh.

The noise Aziraphale made sounded as though he were being strangled, his hips bucking under Crowley’s hands. Crowley held him down, his venom flooding his bloodstream, and Aziraphale came untouched, his erection pulsing against Crowley’s cheek. The taste of him was so familiar that Crowley could detect the alcohol in his blood. Once he’d pumped him full of everything he had, Crowley lifted his head to catch sight of Aziraphale clutching at the cushions, shuddering through the tail-end of his orgasm. He swept his hands up and down Aziraphale’s thighs as the pleasure dissipated, as his expression smoothed into something dreamy.

He ran his tongue down his fangs, feeling the points with his tongue, wondering if sharp things were destined to cut into soft ones. If that was the only thing sharp things were good for. 

Aziraphale petted at him clumsily, red pooling in the hollow of his groin. Two more pinholes for his collection. “Come here, my dear.”

Crowley crawled onto the couch to straddle him, careful not to jab him with his edges, and buried his nose in soft curls. Aziraphale’s hands slid down his back, over his waist, pawed at his belt, then paused. “You’re not…”

Crowley shook his head. He was too drunk and maudlin and terrified to even think about coaxing his corporation to get an erection. What an embarrassing excuse of a demon, he was.

“Should I—”

“Jussst—” Crowley wrapped his arms around his neck. “Shut up.”

So, they sat like that while Aziraphale basked in his high and Crowley tried not to think about anything except the feeling of Aziraphale painting invisible pictures on his back. Whether the War was won by Heaven or Hell, it didn’t matter. The only place they could have this was on Earth.

“We just need to find the boy,” Aziraphale mumbled into his chest. “And then someone in Heaven will see things our way.”

“You’re talking rot.”

Aziraphale patted his shoulder. “Things will work out, you’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 📌


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The polite thing to do would be to let Aziraphale bask in peace, to make his excuses and leave Aziraphale to go through every shelf and stack of books and check that everything was in place. Instead, enchanted, drawn to him by some irresistible force, Crowley cupped his face and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all staying safe and healthy <3

**+1**

Bellies full, the tang of the best Ritz champagne still on their tongues, Crowley drove them back to the bookshop at a sedate eighty miles per hour. The closer they got, the slower he went and the tighter he gripped the wheel. He’d faced down Satan and Heaven, but the thought of dropping off Aziraphale and going back to his flat, empty except for his plants and a deadly Ligur-puddle, made his heart race. He turned onto Aziraphale’s street at a snail’s pace and parked with white knuckles.

Then, already getting out of the car, Aziraphale said, “Won’t you come in, dear?”

His hands slipped off the wheel with relief. Aziraphale led the way inside, his face hidden as he stepped into his restored bookshop.

Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets, watching his back. “See? Everything’s back to normal, mostly. You’ve got a few new books, that’s all.”

Aziraphale made a slow circle to take it all in and, when he was halfway through his rotation, his expression robbed Crowley of his breath. His face was glowing with pure happiness, with a joy that brightened his eyes and flushed his cheeks and wrinkled his face to create the most beautiful expression Crowley had ever seen.

The polite thing to do would be to let Aziraphale bask in peace, to make his excuses and leave Aziraphale to go through every shelf and stack of books and check that everything was in place. Instead, enchanted, drawn to him by some irresistible force, Crowley cupped his face and kissed him.

Aziraphale made a muffled sound of surprise against his lips, but mercifully didn’t push Crowley away. In fact, he seemed rather pleased with this development, his hands flying to Crowley’s hips, his mouth opening for Crowley’s questing tongue. He didn’t resist at all as Crowley herded him backwards, wanting nothing more than to press them together until their atoms collided.

How had Crowley ever questioned this? How had he ever complained, even just to himself? What did it matter _how_ they were together so long as they were?

Aziraphale’s back hit one of the pillars in the main room and Crowley pressed flush against him, feeling him warm and solid and alive in his arms. There was something that felt so right about having Aziraphale backed against a surface, Crowley’s body shielding him from the world. He skimmed his hands down Aziraphale’s cheeks, over his jaw, to his neck, where he made quick work of his bowtie and collar, baring his skin for Crowley’s lips. Ducking his head, he kissed and nibbled at the side of his neck and Aziraphale sighed and ground against the thigh between his legs.

Gums tingling, Crowley let his fangs extend, brushed them temptingly against his jugular. “Wanna bite?” he crooned against Aziraphale’s pulse. If this was all Aziraphale wanted from him he would happily provide it for another six thousand years or more. “Gonna make you feel good.”

Taut with excitement, Aziraphale let out a high moan. “Oh, my dear, that sounds delightful, but—” He pushed against Crowley’s chest and Crowley looked up in surprise. Aziraphale was stunning: disheveled and flushed and aching for it, but there was a nervous tilt to his lips. “Perhaps, not this time.”

“Oh.” Crowley stepped back, his stomach dropping like a lead balloon. Aziraphale looked like he was enjoying himself, but he retracted his fangs. “Right. Not in the mood, then?” It made sense, really. He probably wanted to get to indexing his books.

“I didn’t say that.” Without Crowley propping him up, Aziraphale had to shuffle his feet to stand up straight against the pillar. His lips twisted unhappily. “Though I understand if you would prefer not to.”

Crowley stared at him. “What?” He looked down at himself and the very obvious hardon testing the integrity of his jeans. “Of course, I want to.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale followed his gaze. His fingers twitched. “Even if you don’t bite me?”

There was a beat, and then the slow creep of a horrible suspicion settling in. “Do _you_ still want to if I don’t bite you?”

“Of course I—” Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear.”

For a strained moment, Crowley's life flashed before his eyes, their interactions taking on a new tint as if he'd changed the lenses of his glasses. “We’re idiots.” Throwing off his sunglasses, Crowley surged forward and kissed him, lightheaded, the lead balloon filling with helium and knocking around in his chest. When they broke apart, that blindingly happy expression was back on Aziraphale’s face, but _Crowley_ had put it there.

Demons weren’t meant to even say it, never mind feel it. But Crowley didn’t belong to Hell anymore. Aziraphale was no longer beholden to Heaven. They could have this, he realized. He wasn’t going to lose everything after all – in fact, he had gained even more. The unimaginable had just become possible, and Crowley couldn’t contain himself. It just burst out of him.

“I love you so fucking much, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale beamed, literally, his skin radiating a Heavenly glow. Crowley could feel his cheeks bunch up under his palms. “I love you very fucking much, as well.”

Crowley choked on a laugh and Aziraphale pulled him back in for increasingly urgent kisses, their hips grinding inelegantly, both of them too impatient to do more than unbuckle and unzip until their erections were bare and rubbing between them.

“Oh, _yes_ , Crowley,” Aziraphale groaned, hands slipping to his arse to tug him in closer.

“Ng—” His hips jerked, his balls drawing up tight as they pressed together, heat and pleasure building sharply. This, he realized, was going to be embarrassingly quick.

Every one of Aziraphale’s exhales was accompanied by a moan or a sigh or a mewl, delirious with bliss, as if Crowley’s venom really were pumping through his veins. Crowley swore and pawed at his shoulders, his waist, his hips, stupidly turned on by the fact that Aziraphale was making those sounds just because Crowley was touching him.

“Aziraphale—”

Aziraphale’s hand tightened in his hair. “ _Yes_.”

Crowley made a horrifying whimpering sound, hips stuttering. “Angel, I’m gonna—”

“Please do,” he gasped. The hand splayed just under Crowley’s arse squeezed hard, and Crowley hissed and twisted and came, pulsing against Aziraphale’s belly, crushing him against the pillar.

“ _Fuck_.”

Aziraphale’s hands clutched at him, his head tilting back with an expression like pain as their hips circled. “Oh – oh – oh, _Crowley_!” He went rigid, eyes fluttering shut, and spilled between them, spreading the mess into their skin.

As they floated down from the high, they kissed again, this time languid and sweet, still grinding slowly to coax out little shivers. After long minutes, they went still and Crowley sighed, tucking his face into the side of Aziraphale’s neck, kissing the silvery puncture scars there. Aziraphale stroked his back in a way that made Crowley want to lose some limbs and slither into a satisfied pile.

“You kept them.”

“Hm?”

“The scars.” He kissed his neck again, dragged his hand down Aziraphale’s arm to encircle his wrist, lifting it to show another bite mark that shined dully on his skin. “Why didn’t you miracle them away?”

“I suppose I rather like them.” Pulling his arm away gently, Aziraphale unbuttoned his cuff. “They remind me of you. Of the brief moments we could be together despite being on opposite sides.”

Swallowing thickly, Crowley watched him push up his sleeve, revealing the barely-there sheen of a six-thousand-year old scar.

“This one’s from when we first met.” He smiled. “You were dazzling, glimmering in the sun. Then you gave me the shock of my existence.”

“I still maintain that was entirely your fault,” Crowley grumbled, the back of his neck hot. He trailed his fingertips down the soft skin of Aziraphale’s forearm, coming to a stop at the scar on his palm. “Rome.”

“We had oysters,” Aziraphale remembered, fingers tangling with his. “And then you were licking the sauce from my hand—”

Crowley’s breath caught at the memory, desire fizzling again. He ducked to kiss the constellation of scars on Aziraphale’s neck, normally hidden by his collar. “How many times have I bitten you here?”

“Six,” Aziraphale sighed, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Egypt, India – mmm – France, Portugal…and twice here.”

Memories swirling in his brain, not all of them entirely pleasant, Crowley pulled back to look him in the eye. “Angel. You never… I’ve never bitten you when you didn’t want me to, have I?”

“No, dear.” Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’ve felt quite greedy, over the years, taking advantage of your propensity to bite, stealing you away for a night. Surely it’s obvious how enjoyable I find it.”

Crowley flashed a fanged grin. “Enjoyable? More like orgasmic. Mind-bogglingly pleasurable. Ecstasy-inducing. I’m a bit jealous, really.”

Aziraphale’s eyes lowered flirtatiously, his lips twitching. “Well, darling, now that we’ve learned how to swap corporations, perhaps I could try being the serpent for once, hm?”

Back in the 90’s (the 1990’s, that was), Crowley had gotten caught up in a bar fight that had absolutely, definitely not been his fault. He’d been too drunk to make a swift exit and took a bottle to the head. For a few seconds he had been knocked senseless, which was what made this current sensation so familiar. Only instead of strobe lights flashing in front of his eyes, there were images of snake Aziraphale, winding his way up Crowley’s leg.

Taking advantage of Crowley’s salacious distraction, Aziraphale slipped around him and headed for the back room. “I’m in the mood for cocoa, would you like some?”

Saving those thoughts for later, Crowley trailed after him, feeling vaguely concussed, a little titillated, and very in love. “I’d be…amenable. Not for the cocoa, I mean…the other thing.”

Aziraphale smiled at him over his shoulder, innocent as could be, as he put the kettle on the stove. “I must warn you, the effects are delightfully overwhelming. Frankly, I’ve been overwhelmed quite enough in the past couple days.”

“’Course.” Rallying, he summoned up his usual cool and sauntered into the kitchenette to sweep Aziraphale into a kiss. It was a superhero kind of kiss, a James Bond sort of kiss, that had Aziraphale clutching at his shoulders and a little pink around the ears. “You’ll let me know, won’t you, if you’re ever in the mood to be…overwhelmed?”

“Oh, you wily serpent, I certainly will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this silly concept as much as I have! If you'd ever like to chat or get more updates you can also find me on [Tumblr](https://notesoflore.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> Check out the body swap sequel [His Own Venom!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018881)


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